


Best Face Forward

by track_04



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Defiant Victim, F/F, Forced Orgasm, Held Down, Light Bondage, Mild Gore, Object Insertion, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/pseuds/track_04
Summary: Gertrude decides to take a hands-on approach to a problem. Nikola decides to take a hands-on approach to Gertrude. Only one of them ends up getting what they really want.





	Best Face Forward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zai42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/gifts).



> I loved your prompt for this pairing and had so much fun writing this! I hope you like it and Merry Consentex!

The alleyway was silent, save for the sound of Gertrude’s footsteps against the damp pavement. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat to save them from the chill and felt very much like a character in one of the badly written detective novels she’d been so fond of as a child.

If she’d been a younger woman, back when clandestine meetings in dramatic locations had given her a thrill, she might have enjoyed this. Now that she had a few decades of bitterness and cynicism under her belt, she wished they'd agreed to meet inside so that she didn’t have to deal with the damp.

“Punctual as always, I see,” Adelard Dekker said from where he was leaning against the dirty brick lining one side of the alleyway, arms crossed over his chest and mouth stretched into a wide grin. 

“And you’re just as dramatic as I remember.” 

“I thought you might appreciate somewhere well-hidden from prying eyes is all.”

“I think I would have appreciated somewhere I could buy a drink more.” Gertrude stepped into the dirty pool of light a few feet in front of him and stopped, hands still tucked deep in her pockets. She made a point not to look around to check if she’d been followed. Adelard made a point not to let on that they both knew she’d taken a long, circuitous route to get here just to make sure that she hadn’t.

“Next time, then. We’ll meet at a pub I know.” He pushed off the wall and stepped into the edge of the light, standing there in full view and giving Gertrude a moment to look him over, make sure nothing seemed amiss. 

Satisfied, she pulled one of her hands from her pockets and held it out, a folded piece of paper clutched between her fingers. “Good. I think we both might need a drink after this.”

“Don't we always?” He took the paper from her, opening it to read and nodding once before he stuffed it into the pocket of his coat. He pulled out another slip of paper and handed it to her along with a badly wrapped brown parcel, still grinning. “I wrote the title of the song down here.” 

Gertrude squinted at Adelard’s gently sloping writing and tore open the edge of the parcel to reveal a small transistor radio. "And this only gets the one station?"

"Of course. Just like you asked."

“And the address on the note? I’m assuming that’s something separate.”

“Somewhere we can get a drink after,” he said, tipping his hat to her before he turned and disappeared into the darkness.

She placed the piece of paper securely in her pocket and tucked the radio beneath one arm, then made her way home to gather the rest of her things.

The next morning, she phoned Rosie to let her know she’d be away for a few days, locked the door to her flat behind her, and set out to find a faded white delivery van and the pair of delivery men that she hoped would be waiting inside.

\--

There were times when Gertrude wished she still had assistants to send out on errands in her place; sitting there, bound to a rusty metal folding chair and listening to the Stranger’s Cockney delivery men nattering on was one of those times.

It wasn't that she was opposed to taking a more hands-on approach and doing things herself. Quite the opposite, really—she often enjoyed having the assurance that came with knowing something was going to be done right because she was the one doing it. But in this particular case, she very much doubted that her presence was any more effective than that of a frightened assistant would have been. 

Unfortunately, doing it herself was currently her only option, so here she was, the cool air in the long-defunct wax museum making her glad she’d thought to wear a sweater. She just hoped that Adelard managed to complete his end of their bargain within a reasonable time frame. She preferred not to spend any longer here than was strictly necessary.

The two delivery men seemed not to notice the chill in the air; it was hard to tell if it was because they were incapable, or because they were too busy staring at Gertrude with vaguely perplexed expressions on their faces, like she was a puzzle to be solved. 

She stared back at them, face carefully blank, and waited.

The one on the right, with slightly broader shoulders and hair that was a non-descript brownish-blond, leaned forward and squinted at her. “Do you think ropes are enough?” 

“This one don’t look like she’d make it far if she tried to run,” his partner, who had a jaw that was a bit more square and hair that was a blondish-brown, answered.

“Still, I wouldn’t want any more issues. You know what Nikola said after the last time.”

“That I do, Hope.” The square-jawed one nodded, his voice taking on an exaggerated, high-pitched airiness as he quoted, “Next time, check to be sure that the person you’re holding captive is actually secure before you leave them alone. Or better yet, stand watch. If I wanted to hunt them down myself, I wouldn’t send you after them in the first place.”

The broad-shouldered one stuck a thumb out and motioned to Gertrude. “We didn’t really hunt this one down ourselves, as such, but I think the principle still stands.”

“And what good is someone who won’t stand by their principles?”

“No good, Breekon. No good at all.”

Gertrude cleared her throat. “While I admire your willingness to ensure that you’re performing your job to the letter, it might be useful if you loosened the bindings on my wrists. Unless your intention was to let my hands fall off due to lack of circulation. In which case, carry on.”

“No, the boss usually likes to remove those herself.” The one called Breekon stepped around her and stooped, fumbling at the knot with his big, meaty fingers. The flesh of his fingertips made an odd, disconcertingly wet noise as he adjusted her bindings. “How’s that?”

“Better. Thank you.” Gertrude flexed her hands. “Might I ask when I can expect your boss to grace me with her presence?”

“Whenever she feels like being graceful, I imagine.”

“Yes, might take her awhile. She likes to work up to bein' graceful. Really make an entrance, you know.” The one called Hope gave Gertrude a thoughtful look. “We could keep you company in the meantime. Seeing as you’re our guest and all. Seems like what Nikola would want.”

Gertrude kept the pained expression off her face and carefully arched an eyebrow. “As appealing as that sounds, might I make a suggestion instead?”

“Anyone can make suggestions, last I checked.”

“Anyone who's a someone, anyway. They probably don't let no ones make suggestions. I imagine that would get too confusing."

Hope tapped a finger against his chin thoughtfully. "She looks like a someone, though, so I’m sure she's in the clear.”

Breekon nodded solemnly. “That’s true. Usually takes a bit more effort to tie a no one to a chair.”

Gertrude sighed and made sure to pronounce each of her words slowly and very carefully. “Yes. Well, my suggestion is this: your boss might appreciate knowing that I’m here, since she wasn’t expecting me. And I don’t believe you made a point to tell her that I’d arrived.”

“She may have a point. Nikola does like to be kept informed.”

“Nothing worse than an uninformed Nikola, really.”

“Then perhaps you should see about informing her,” Gertrude said dryly, resisting the urge to test her bonds. She doubted these two were quite as bumbling as they seemed; Orsinov had never sounded like the type to keep anyone around who was completely useless.

“Can’t hurt to keep her informed, then, can it?”

“I suppose not.” 

Gertrude cleared her throat. “Might I trouble you for one more thing before you go, gentlemen?”

They stopped and turned back to face her, movements eerily in sync. 

“It’s no trouble, you bein’ our guest and all.”

“Right.” Gertrude let her voice slip into the tone that she usually reserved for her assistants, frail and harmless and undemanding, like she was asking for a favor instead of making demands. “Would you mind bringing in a radio if you have one? Since I have nothing else to keep me occupied while you’re gone, it might be nice to have some music.”

“That does seem like the polite thing to do.”

“That it does.” Breekon rubbed his chin, the flesh of his face shifting like putty beneath his fingertips. “I did read somewhere that humans like when you leave the radio on for them when you have to go out. Makes them feel less lonely when there’s no one there to keep them company.”

“Like that music they play in lifts. Helps keep you entertained while you wait.” 

“Exactly.” Breekon nodded and marched purposefully out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a portable radio. It looked out of place in the surroundings, at least a decade newer than any of the other human remnants lying about the museum, but neither he nor his partner seemed to notice the discrepancy.

Sometimes, Gertrude thought, dealing with monsters was almost a bit too easy.

Breekon balanced the radio in the hands of one of the nearby wax figures, pushing the plastic down into the wax until it shifted, the hands reshaping themselves to hold it firmly in place. There was a high pitch squeal that followed, and Gertrude wasn’t sure if it came from the radio when Breekon hit the switch to turn it on, or if it came from the open mouth of the wax figure cradling the radio in its mangled palms.

Hope took a step closer and leaned in to give the radio a better look. “Didn’t even know we had one of these.”

“Me either, but there it was when I walked into the room, lying on the floor, just waiting to be found. Lucky, I’d say.”

“I suppose it is.”

“Yes, very,” Gertrude said dryly, trying to keep her expression patient as she watched the two monsters fumbling with the dial, attempting to find a station. There was a brief moment where she was afraid that they’d either leave it on a bit of static that they thought passed for music or that it wouldn’t pick up any stations, including the only one that it should have been able to pick up. But, after a few long minutes of struggling, it finally found a signal, and an annoyingly chipper pop song filled the room. She breathed a sigh of relief, glad that this part of the plan, at least, seemed to be going exactly as she’d intended it to. Now, all she really had to do was try to hold Orsinov’s attention for as long as it took for Adelard to do his part. 

“Now that that’s sorted, anything else we can do for you before we go?”

“No. That will be quite enough.”

“We’ll leave you to it, then.” Hope gave Gertrude a two-fingered salute. “Don’t worry, we’ll be back before you know it.”

“Or Nikola will.”

“Yes, or Nikola. You won’t be alone for long.”

Gertrude stayed silent, waiting until the door swung shut to mumble, “That was rather the point.”

A new song started playing on the radio, something she vaguely remembered hearing one of her assistants listening to at their desk, volume turned low so as not to disturb her. She imagined Adelard, wherever he was, laughing at the thought of Gertrude being subjected to hours worth of mindless pop music, and sighed. It really was so much easier when she could just do these things herself.

\--

Gertrude had known of Nikola Orsinov’s existence for years now, had read statements about people being stalked by a thing with no face and a flair for the dramatic. She’d never seen Orsinov for herself, but reading and listening to those statements had built a clear picture in her mind of everything that she should have been.

Like most of the things she dealt with, the stories—however horrible and arresting their details—didn’t compare to the reality. Reality was always so much more crude, rougher around the edges than the words laid out a page in shaky, uneven handwriting or carefully set type. There was a part of Gertrude that always found it a bit disappointing.

That part of her felt a slight twinge when Nikola Orsinov stepped through the doorway and proved that she was not an exception to the rule

The red of her coat was darker, more like the dull red of a dusty bottle of wine than the bright red of fresh blood that Gertrude had always pictured. The plastic of her limbs looked more grey than white in places, gleaming less than it should have. Gertrude imagined that, had she been someone else, it would have made for a terrifying picture; as it was, all she could do was note all the differences between the imperfection of reality and her ideas about what Orsinov should have been. 

Still, even with the shabby coat and the oddly jointed limbs that looked more comical than frightening, there was still something about her that made it hard to look away.

One of those imperfect limbs made a graceful arc through the air as Orsinov stepped into the light, revealing the blank canvas of her non-existent face. She paused, arms frozen in mid-air as she affected a dramatic pose that probably would have looked impressive to anyone who hadn’t been dealing with monsters on a weekly basis for most of their life; as it was, the effect was somewhat ruined by the sharp plastic popping of her joints as they settled into place.

“Nikola Orsinov, I presume,” Gertrude said, seeing no reason to let the moment linger.

If Orsinov had had a face, she might have looked disappointed. Since she did not, her limbs did the talking for her, dropping to her hips as she let out a dramatic sigh. “You could stand to sound a bit more impressed, Archivist. I don’t bother showing off like this for just anyone.”

Gertrude stared at the space that should have been Nikola’s eyes and held herself still against the cold metal of the chair. “If I believed that, I’d be honored.”

“Oh, you're _lovely_.” Nikola laughed and moved forward, close enough for Gertrude to see the uneven stitching on her coat, the way the gold of the thread caught the overhead lights, making it look cheap. She reached out, pressing a cold fingertip beneath Gertrude’s chin, a useless gesture with Gertrude’s head already tilted upward, staring into her blank face. “And here I was afraid that you wouldn’t live up to all the wonderful things that I’ve heard about you. Monsters are so bad about exaggeration. You never know what to believe! But you—you might actually be even better than the stories.”

“Thank you,” Gertrude said, allowing herself the briefest of smiles. "You're a bit different than I imagined as well."

“Even better than you’ve heard, I hope.”

Gertrude hummed quietly and declined to comment. 

"Well, I’ll have to be sure to live up to your expectations, won’t I?" Nikola ran her finger against the underside of Gertrude's chin slowly as she withdrew it.

Gertrude held back a shiver and kept her expression carefully blank. "Might I ask what you plan to do with me, now that you have me?"

"You’re cheeky. I like that." Nikola took a step back, adopting a different, only-slightly-less-dramatic pose. "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, but rest assured that it will be horrible. And painful, naturally. I'll probably peel you at the end of it, since I’d never forgive myself it I wasted you, but don’t worry. I’ll make sure we have lots of fun together first."

“I don’t doubt that you will.” Gertrude tried to decide whether the dramatic poses and over-the-top proclamations were for her benefit or Nikola’s ingrained love of the dramatic; monsters had a tendency to be unbearably showy when given the opportunity. 

"If you're very good, I might even kill you before I peel you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I imagine not, but I don't think I really have any say in the matter."

Nikola laughed and leaned in until the blank slate of her face was mere inches from Gertrude's. "It's been so long since I've had a real challenge, Archivist. I'm so _happy_ you're finally here."

"I can't say the feeling is mutual."

Nikola straightened and clapped her hands together, her body language delighted. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need some time to prepare, since you didn't give me any notice that you were coming. Which was a bit rude of you, really. Luckily for you, I’m feeling incredibly forgiving."

She turned on her heel and marched out the door, the music still coming from the radio not quite loud enough to drown out the soft squeak of the soles of her bare feet against the cheap tile flooring. She paused in the doorway and lifted one hand to give Gertrude a little wave. “Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone.”

"I'll do my best to manage," Gertrude said, waiting until she was certain she was alone again to relax her shoulders.

\--

One thing that few people realized about being held captive was how dreadfully boring it was. Gertrude was, unfortunately, intimately familiar with the boredom that came with being tied up and locked in an empty room until whatever threat you were currently facing decided to deal with you.

She tried to distract herself by listening to the radio, part of her hoping to hear Adelard's song before Nikola returned, despite how unlikely she knew it would be that he’d finish that quickly. The music was, unfortunately, teeth-gratingly awful, which made it less than ideal so far as distractions went. 

She was starting to seriously consider whether having the flesh slowly peeled from her bones might be preferable to this endless tedium when Nikola finally made her grand re-entrance.

She seemed to have put more effort into her second entrance than she had her first, her outfit complete and polished-looking, a top hat resting at a jaunty angle atop her head and her coat tails swirling around her as she stepped into the room. Her limbs were unnaturally graceful as she moved forward, using the shadows to her advantage until she found a place where the light hit her perfectly, reflecting off the buttons of her coat and the black lacquer of the cane she had gripped firmly in one gloved hand. The white of her thighs was visible over the top of the boots she was wearing, the dark black leather polished until it shone.

Everything about her seem sharper, more gleaming; it felt like every terrified, awe-filled word that Gertrude had ever read about the monster that was Nikola Orsinov had come to life and was now standing there before her on full display. 

She was horrifying and wrong and oddly beautiful, and the part of Gertrude who wasn’t busy resenting her current situation was almost impressed at the difference. And, if she were being honest, a little bit relieved. 

“Did you miss me, Archivist?”

"Not especially."

"I don't believe you." Nikola relaxed her posture to something slightly less dramatic, and the light seemed to shift around, molding itself to her movements like an extra set of limbs. "But it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"No, it doesn't, so you don't really need to pretend as though it does. I don't really find empty platitudes particularly comforting."

"You wouldn't, would you?" Nikola tilted her head and Gertrude could almost see the pursed lips and arched eyebrow that would have been there, had she had them. She stared at Gertrude for a few long seconds and then shifted, resting one hand against her hip, the other still clutching the dark wood of her cane. "Well, then. I guess there's no reason not to get started, then, is there?"

"I suppose not."

Nikola laughed again, hand moving from her hip up into the air where she extended one long, white finger and curled it slowly, motioning to something behind her in the dark. "You heard the Archivist. Time to begin."

There was a quiet rustling, the shift of something both wet and living and dry as old parchment, and Gertrude caught a flash of color against the darkness. A human-shaped figure slid forward into the light, its limbs curling and graceful and cloaked in impossible colors. The lines of it shifted as it moved, blurring and then righting themselves again, making it hard to tell where the thing began and everything else ended. Gertrude could see bits of paper-thin skin and stark white bone and thick cuts of muscle draped around it, weaving together in a garment that accentuated the many-colors of the limbs beneath it, making it both a thing of nightmares and impossibly beautiful.

It took Gertrude a moment to realize that it was pushing a cart in front of it, her eyes too busy trying to make sense of the riot of flesh and color to notice something so real as a bit of rusty, creaking metal. Its hands were whirls of color where they wrapped around the rusted handle, and Gertrude got a bit lost staring at the curl of its bright, endless fingers. 

She came back to herself only when the cart stopped in front of her and Nikola stepped forward, gripping the shifting brightness of the thing's shoulder in one of her too-solid white hands.

"My dancers are a bit distracting, aren’t they? It's a pity you won't still be around to watch them all together. You'd enjoy it so much, Archivist."

Gertrude curled and uncurled her hands slowly behind her back, swallowing carefully before she spoke. "Yes, it is a shame, isn't it?"

"Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to let one of them wear your face. Which is almost as good as being there to enjoy it yourself.” Nikola dropped her arm with a flourish and crossed the room to stand in front of Gertrude, her hip thrust out at the same angle as her hat. "I’d wear you myself, but I’ve already picked out my outfit.”

Gertrude kept her eyes trained on Nikola and didn't bother answering.

“Not that I wouldn’t enjoy wearing you, but I really hate having to change my plans.” Nikola reached out, running a fingertip along Gertrude’s cheek in a slow caress. "Which is why you should really appreciate that I’m here now. You wouldn’t imagine how much _rearranging_ I had to do just to find the time to be here with you now. But I just couldn’t stand the thought of letting anyone else play host to someone quite so important as you."

"If you want something done right, it is generally best to do it yourself."

“It really is, isn’t it? You’d think it would be easier when you custom build all your help from spare parts, but even then, they never seem to manage to be quite what I want. It’s as if some of the parts have ideas of their own, like they can’t manage to forget what it is to be human and want things. Annoying, really.” 

“How terribly stressful for you.”

“Yes, thank you.” Nikola sighed and propped her cane against the side of the cart, then reached out to run a finger along the edge of it, the sound of plastic against metal making the skin on the back of Gertrude’s neck prickle. “Although I suppose I have it easier than you do. At least when my help gets out of line I can just pull them apart and start over. That’s so much harder to do with humans, isn’t it? With them, you’d just have to scrap the whole lot.”

Gertrude followed the path of Nikola’s finger with her eyes, unable to see whatever was laid out atop the cart from her current vantage point. “I manage.”

“Yes, I have heard that about you.” Nikola stopped, hand reaching out for something before she gave a slight shake of her head and pulled it back again. “You seem to feed an awful lot of them to monsters. But you’ve never sent any to us—why is that, exactly?”

“You have yet to make me think it’s necessary.”

“Oh, well, I guess we’ll just have to remedy that, won’t we?” Nikola said and reached out, picking up a wicked-looking knife from the tray. She held it up and turned it so the light traced the edge of the blade, long and thick and no doubt sharp enough to flay the flesh from her bones.

Gertrude kept her chin held high and her voice steady. “You can try.”

Nikola swung the blade around, tapping the point of it against Gertrude’s cheek. “It’s always the strong ones who seem to fall apart the most easily, you know. Give them a few well-placed cuts, pull a bit of skin off their arms or chest, tear a muscle out of their back, and they just start weeping.”

“I’m not much for weeping.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Nikola said, moving the blade down and cutting off the top button of Gertrude’s shirt with a flick of her wrist. She pushed it open and rested the knife against her skin, pressing the tip in slowly, her blank eyes watching the skin part as she traced the line of Gertrude’s collarbone.

Gertrude bit her tongue and stared up at Nikola, eyes unblinking. She managed to hold in everything except her final wince when Nikola pulled the blade back free, leaving one end of the wound slightly more ragged than the other. Gertrude could see blood shining against the burnished metal of the blade as thin lines of blood from the wound started to spill down her chest, staining the front of her shirt.

“Do you know what I love about humans? You’re so much more beautiful on the inside.” Nikola flicked her hand to the side, sending a splatter of blood from the knife onto the dancer still standing in the darkness behind her. It didn’t flinch or give any indication that it could feel the line of red trickling down what may have been one of its arms, bright and hot and too-real against the backdrop of its other colors.

Gertrude watched all of it and kept her breathing slow and measured, the line across her collarbone burning and the front of her shirt growing damp.

“Oh my. You really are a tough one, aren’t you, Archivist?”

Getrude swallowed. “So I’ve been told.”

“And yet, I bet you’re still nice and soft underneath it all.” Nikola turned the knife toward her again and started to cut the rest of the buttons from the front of her shirt. They made an empty, plastic noise as they fell, skittering across the floor and disappearing into the shadows. 

Gertrude clenched her hands behind her as her shirt fell open, the cool air of the room raising gooseflesh on her exposed skin. “Only one way to find out, I suppose.”

“Don’t tempt me, Archivist. I’m trying to be a good host,” Nikola ran the tip of the knife along her breastbone, being careful not to break the skin. She slipped it beneath the material of Gertrude’s bra and, with one quick upward motion, cut it in half. It fell loose around her, leaving her exposed, and Nikola reached out, trailing a fingertip over one of her breasts.

Gertrude tightened her hands into fists, but didn’t allow herself to pull away.

“It’s best for both of us if we don’t rush things, don’t you think?” Nikola rolled one of Gertrude’s nipples between her thumb and forefinger, touch light and almost thoughtful. “Especially since it’s not nearly as much fun if you’re not terrified. And I have a feeling it will take more than just the usual to terrify someone like you.” 

Gertrude kept her gaze fixed on the blank white of Nikola’s face, ignoring both her revulsion and the shiver that ran through her as Nikola gave her nipple a sharp tug. “I imagine that would take more than you’re capable of. Although you’re free to try.”

Nikola grabbed the sides of Gertrude’s face, her fingertips pressing into Gertrude’s flesh as she squeezed. “You have no idea what I’m capable of, Archivist. I promise you that I’m much more creative than the other nothings you’ve dealt with.”

Gertrude winced as Nikola released her, able to feel the finger-shaped bruises already forming along her jaw. She took a deep breath and gave Nikola the most level look that she could manage. “Well, you’re certainly more talkative. Although I suppose you would have to be, wouldn’t you?”

“And what, exactly, do you mean by that?”

“The others don’t really need to talk quite so much to get their point across,” Gertrude said, voice almost bored. “But I don’t suppose that’s your fault. Something like fire does such a good job speaking for itself and we can’t really help how we’re made, now can we?”

Nikola straightened, her limbs white and wrong-angled against the dark and the knife still clutched in one of her hands, curved and wicked. For a brief moment, watching the light traced the edge of that blade, Gertrude thought that Nikola might lash out, bury it deep in her flesh in a moment of anger and that would be the end of it. 

It was a disappointing thought, that something like Orsinov would give her such an uncreative, efficient end.

It was something of a relief, then, when Nikola laid the knife aside and motioned the dancer forward. “I suppose it’s time I start letting my actions speak for me, then.”

Gertrude tried to keep her eyes fixed on Nikola, but it was hard not to follow the swirls of color as the dancer moved. She turned her head, straining to continue watching as it slid behind her, the patterns of color on its skin continuing to shift even after it had stilled completely.

“You’ll have to excuse me enlisting a bit of help, but I suppose you don’t have a choice either way, do you?” Nikola said, voice sharp and amused as she lifted a hand and snapped her fingers.

On cue, the dancer gripping Gertrude’s upper arms in surprisingly strong hands and lifted her from the chair, ignoring the hiss of pain she made from being forced to stand on legs that were half-asleep from sitting for so long. It maneuvered her around until she was standing beside the chair instead of in front of it, and then it forced her down onto her knees, its movements swift and efficient and still, somehow, beautiful. 

The flooring was cold and uncomfortable beneath her knees; the chair was even colder when the thing put a hand between her shoulder blades and forced her forward, bending her over until her stomach was pressed against the seat, her backside hanging off one side of the chair and her head and shoulders the other. She could feel her hands already starting to go numb where they were still bound behind her back, the new position leaving them at an odd angle against her back, the rope drawn tight around them. 

It was impossible to see Nikola from her current position, but she could hear the soft click of her boots against the tile and the quiet shift of leather on plastic as she stepped closer. 

Gertrude stared down at the floor, watching as blood dripped from the wound on her chest onto the dirty white tile below. “I suppose this is meant to be frightening?”

Nikola laughed and leaned in close; Gertrude spared a moment to consider what was an odd sensation it was to not feel breath against your skin when someone was whispering in your ear. “Patience, Archivist. We’ll be there soon enough.”

Nikola’s fingers brushed against her skin as she slid a hand down to grip the waist of Gertrude’s trousers, clutching the fabric tight and giving a sharp tug. Gertrude jerked as she heard the fabric rip, then felt Nikola pulling the ruined remains down to rest against her thighs. Those cold, plastic fingers slid into the top of her underwear next, exploring the skin beneath briefly before sliding the material down, baring the most intimate parts of her to the cold air of the room. 

Gertrude shivered, a soft sound escaping her as Nikola trailed fingertips back up her thigh. The touch disappeared when it reached the top of her thigh and she heard the soft creak of plastic and leather as Nikola straightened, moving back into the edge of Gertrude’s line of vision as she stepped toward the cart, reaching out to retrieve her cane.

“Try not to get too worked up. We’ve got such a long way to go before I’m finished with you.”

“I’ll try to contain my excitement.” Gertrude could hear the end of the cane tapping agains the floor as Nikola disappeared from her line of vision, crossing the room to stand behind her once again. It was almost a counterpoint to the radio that she could still hear playing in the background, a voice she didn’t recognize singing with an overabundance of feeling about the joys of drinking with friends. 

“Oh, please do.” The words were followed by a rush of air, like the one that came with a bat being swung, and a burst of white-hot pain across Gertrude’s backside.

Gertrude jerked forward in the chair and cried out, startled. She had just enough time to process that Nikola had hit her with her cane before that same sound of something solid cut through the air, and there was the sharp slap and accompanying pain of something heavy against her skin. 

The leather of Nikola’s boots creaked as she shifted closer, pressing a finger against the worst of the pain. “You know what I love most about human skin? It’s so resilient. It’s the best part of you, really.”

“We’re rather fond of it,” Gertrude bit out, hands white-knuckled where she had them curled into fists against her back.

“I especially love the way it bruises. It’s amazing, the colors you have inside of you, just waiting to rise to the surface. And they’re even more impressive when you’re the one who put them there.”

This time, Gertrude managed to brace herself when she heard the telltale rush of air; she bit her lip and closed her eyes briefly, breathing in roughly through her nose and not allowing herself the luxury of a scream. Her voice was tight when she spoke, doing her best to ignore the burning ache in her backside. “...they’re not what I would call difficult to make.”

“Not if your only aim is making them,” Nikola said, voice almost thoughtful as she struck her again, this time on the meaty bit at the top of her thigh. “But there is a certain art to getting them _just right_.”

Gertrude imagined the words being followed by another of her ridiculous poses, not caring that Gertrude couldn’t see it from her current vantage point. She wondered, briefly, whether she’d really needed to come here at all; a room full of mirrors and dramatic lighting would have likely been just as effective in keeping Nikola distracted. She might have let herself laugh at the thought if Nikola hadn’t chosen that moment to hit her again, three times in quick succession, momentarily stealing her ability to breathe.

“Has anyone ever told you that the way you bruise is lovely?” There was a soft click of the end of Nikola’s cane hitting the floor as she lowered it, but any relief that Gertrude felt at that sound died when Nikola started to run a hand over her abused skin, her touch rough and possessive. “The colors already look so promising.”

Gertrude hissed quietly as Nikola gave the skin on one of her thighs a particularly sharp pinch, that little bit of pain somehow managing to throw everything that had come before it into sharp relief. She could feel her muscles starting to stiffen, skin hot and tight where it stretched across the abused flesh beneath it, bruises feeling like they stretched down past her skin and muscle, all the way to her bones. Not for the first time, she wished she were 20 years younger, and fervently hoped that when the time came, she could still manage to make her escape.

“Oh...well, this is surprising, isn’t it?” 

The delight in Nikola’s voice should have been a clue that things were about to go even more wrong, but it wasn’t until Gertrude felt one of Nikola’s fingers slide between her legs that she realized just how much of a warning it should have been. The finger was cold and hard against her skin, enough to make her jerk forward against the chair to try and escape the wrongness of it; the dancer, still standing dutifully beside her, pressed its hand harder against her back and kept her in place as Nikola’s finger started to lazily stroke her clit. 

“This may be my second favorite thing about humans. You’re so responsive.” Nikola trailed her finger down, lingering in the start of wetness she found there, trailing her fingertip through it almost playfully. 

Gertrude forced herself to stay perfectly still as Nikola explored her, her now-damp finger moving back up to her clit and lingering, movements too-rough, but with an odd underlying almost-affection. It had been longer than she would have liked since anyone had touched her in a remotely intimate way, and her cunt responded to Nikola’s touch with an eagerness that made her feel vaguely ill. 

“And here I thought it would take ages to get any sort of reaction out of you. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Nikola slid two fingers inside of her without warning and the soft squelch of it made Gertrude move finally, trying to pull away, even as she felt something low in her stomach tighten. The hand on her back stayed firm, holding her in place, and she resisted the urge to turn her head to stare at the dancer, part of her thinking it might not be so bad to lose herself for a moment in its riot of color.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes instead, somehow managing a voice that sounded almost level. “I do my best not to be predictable.” 

“I appreciate the effort.” Nikola hummed thoughtfully, pressing her fingers as deep as they would go and twisting them around, their blunt tips prodding at Gertrude from uncomfortable angles. 

She hissed and bucked against the chair, unable to keep herself completely still as she felt her body try to accept the invasion, trying to smoothe the way for those fingers even as they prodded her roughly. She had the slightly hysterical thought that Nikola was trying to leave bruises there as well, marking her both inside and out; part of her wondered how she could possibly get any enjoyment out of bruises she couldn’t see, and then she immediately regretted the thought as her mind helpfully conjured up several possible solutions to that problem, each more horrible than the last.

It had been years since she’d allowed herself the luxury of acting on impulse, however small, but she thought that if she could have found a way to free herself at that moment, she would have smashed Nikola into messy plastic pulp against the floor and not stopped to care about the possible consequences.

But there was no getting loose, the dancer holding her firm against the chair. She lay there, wincing at each rough shove of Nikola’s fingers and let herself dream, however briefly, about revenge. 

Finally, Nikola pulled her fingers free, running them along Gertrude’s thigh, leaving a damp trail behind on her skin. “I was going to see how much of a beating you could take before you broke, but that seems so boring, doesn’t it? I think I’ll just see how much of this you can take instead.”

Gertrude cleared her throat, the tremor in her voice bothering her far less than it normally would have. “A bit amateur, don’t you think?” 

“Amateur? Really, Archivist, I’m starting to think you have no respect for my craft,” Nikola said and shoved something cold and smooth and far too large into Gertrude’s cunt without warning.

Gertrude couldn’t stop herself from crying out, the too-dry slide of the thing into her and the way her body tried to fight it enough to make her forget everything except the pain. Her body burned from the inside out, stretching in ways it was never meant to as Nikola gave another shove forward, sliding whatever it was deeper inside of her. After a moment that seemed to stretch into forever and a few more rough shoves, it slid fully inside her, the end tapering down to something long and cylindrical and much easier to take. It was only then that she realized it must have been the end of Nikola’s cane; the round metal head of it had been larger than most, roughly the size of a woman’s fist, and now it was buried inside of her.

“Oh my. You really can take a lot.” 

Nikola made a thoughtful noise, running a fingertip around the edge of the cane, like she was testing where it ended and Gertrude began. For a brief moment, Gertrude thought she might try to slide a finger in alongside it and she tried to pull away, not sure if her body could take more so soon. But Nikola slid her fingers down to play with her clit again, instead, the touch light and playful. “I can see why the Eye chose you. This must be very useful with all those horrible monsters chasing after you.”

“...fewer than there were before,” Gertrude bit out, gasping as Nikola started to move the cane inside of her. 

“Yes, you do seem to have a knack for killing off monsters. Which I wouldn’t mind, really, if you’d stick to the others,” Nikola said as she started to fuck her properly, both with the cane and the fingers currently tending to her clit. 

It hurt in a way that was hard to describe, but she could still feel her body responding, accepting each thrust of the cane a bit more easily than the last. It made her want nothing more than to crawl out of her skin, leave it here for Orsinov to enjoy while she went back to her flat for a bath and a bottle of scotch to help her scrub away the memories. The worst part was the way she could feel her body responding to the attention, her stomach tight with more than just pain.

“I would have been fine ignoring you and letting you pick off the others, you know, but you just had to start asking around about circuses.” She moved her fingers from Gertrude’s clit for just a moment and forced them into her mouth, rolling them around just enough to wet them before she pulled them free and shoved them back between her legs. “I can’t just let you go when you’re so obviously coming after _me_ , you know.”

“Smarter than you look.” Gertrude groaned as Nikola’s fingers slid against her, the added dampness making it feel both better and worse. She jerked against the chair, making one last attempt at freeing herself; this time, she managed to move the chair a few inches forward before the dancer managed to still her again, but by that time it was already too late. She could feel her body tensing against Nikola’s fingers, cunt tightening almost painfully around the cane as she came. 

Nikola didn’t stop, kept fucking her even as her body fought it, oversensitive and abused and unable to take much more. 

There was a plea for Nikola to stop on the tip of her tongue, and she bit her lip to hold it in, refusing to allow her the satisfaction. Nikola could take whatever else she wanted from her, but she refused to give her that so long as she had a choice.

After an agonizing few minutes, Nikola seemed to grow bored and moved her hand to Gertrude’s backside, cupping her hand around it in a parody of affection and tenderness as she pulled the cane out of her with a rough jerk. “It’s almost a shame that I’m going to have to kill you, you know. That’s more fun than I’ve had in _ages_.”

“...I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Gertrude said, refusing to focus on either Orsinov or the dancer as they moved Gertrude from the chair and onto the cold tile floor before they headed for the door. 

Nikola paused in the doorway, framed by the light filtering in from the hall, and blew her a kiss. The bright red of her coat and the chaotic, swirling colors of the dancer standing beside her were the last things Gertrude saw before the door swung shut behind them.

\--

Gertrude woke on the floor where they’d left her, bruised and half-naked and still bound. She held herself still, too sore to do much more than stare out across the room. It looked dirtier from this angle, the tiles of the flooring yellowed and scarred and the wax figures circling the room little more than dusty shadows looming in the background, sadder than they were horrifying.

Her entire body ached and, for once, she was glad she wasn’t younger; had she been, she might have had the desire to cry. Even if she never would have allowed herself the luxury, she would have always known that she wanted to.

“None of that, Robinson,” she murmured to the empty room and slowly, carefully, pulled herself into a sitting position. She leaned back against the cold metal of the chair and looked around her, allowing herself a moment to catch her breath and assess the situation. 

She was bound, injured, and had no idea when her captor would decide to return or what she would do to her when she did. She was also still in one piece and had a vague plan of escape for when they time came.

All things considered, it wasn't the most dire situation she'd ever been in. It probably wasn't even in the top ten.

The radio was still playing in the background, the voice of the DJ an empty droning at the edges of her awareness. She wondered idly if Adelard had already finished and his song had played while she’d been too distracted to notice; she almost would have deserved it, really, for overestimating her ability to focus through anything that Orsinov chose to do to her. 

Still, even if she had managed to miss it, there was nothing she could do except wait in the hopes of giving Adelard a bit more time. Orsinov wouldn’t kill her quickly, and she imagined it would be a few more days before she ran the risk of being unable to escape on her own, no matter how badly her body ached at the moment.

All things considered, it wasn't the worst situation she'd ever been in. It probably wasn't even among the top ten.

And with that thought, a new song began playing on the radio, several decades too old for this particular station and glaringly out of place. A man’s voice, cheerful to the point of emptiness, started singing about his “living doll”, and Gertrude couldn’t help turning her head to stare at the rows of wax figures lining the room.

She was torn between wanting to laugh at the timing and groan at Adelard’s attempt at being clever.

She decided neither was probably worth the effort and focused on the task at hand, pulling her hands apart as far as she could manage and slowly, painstakingly working them free of her bonds. Her wrists were raw by the time she managed it, glad that she’d had the foresight to convince one of the delivery men to loosen them for her. Maybe, if she was in a cheeky enough mood when this was all said and done, she’d send a thank you note to Nikola and ask her to pass it along to him on her behalf. 

She rubbed her hands together, working the feeling back into her fingers, and scanned the room,. She considered her options for leaving the building, the contrary part of her wishing she could have just gone through the front door, giving Orsinov a wave as she went. 

But she wasn’t in the habit of making a move that foolish simply for the sake of being bold, so she decided on the next best thing instead, reaching out to pick up Orsinov's cane from the floor where she’d left it.

She took a deep breath as she gripped it, pushing down her revulsion and wrapping her hand around the bulbous end of it, using it to lever herself up off the floor. Her muscles screamed in protest, the bruises Orsinov had given her making themselves immediately known. She closed her eyes for a moment and forced herself to take one step forward and then another, hobbling her way to the back of the room and the square of dim light filtering in through the room’s lone window. 

She stopped just long enough to take a skirt and pullover from two of the wax figures and used them to cover herself before she began the long, painful process of levering herself up and out of the window. After a rather undignified climb onto a table she managed it, propping the window open with Orsinov’s cane and pulling herself through the window and out the other side. She landed on the ground hard enough to give her bruises on the front of her body that matched the back, but even that couldn’t dull her satisfaction as she glanced back at the window and saw the cane propping it open, waiting where Orsinov was sure to find it.

She smiled to herself and stole one last backward glance at it before she limped away.

\--

The pub was exactly as dimly-lit and disreputable as she would have imagined from a place frequented by Adelard Dekker. She walked in as confidently as she could manage with a limp, ignoring the worried looks some of the patrons threw her way as she found her way to a table in a dark corner.

She was perched gingerly on the edge of her seat, back to the wall and a half-empty scotch clutched in one hand when Adelard found her.

“You look like shit,” he said and took a seat across from her, watching as she pushed a second glass of scotch across the table and into his waiting hand. “I don’t suppose you’re going to give me any of the details on your part of the adventure.”

“I prefer listening to stories, not telling them.” She arched an eyebrow. “If you’d like to give a statement, I’m all ears.”

“Not today, Archivist. I’ve got places to be.” He grinned, the lighting in the pub making his teeth shine like plastic. If he noticed Gertrude’s shiver, he was polite enough not to comment. “Not much of interest to say, anyway. Got the Stranger’s lot out of the shop, broke in, got what you asked me to get and high-tailed it out of there before they realized it was gone.”

“As always, Adelard, you have a talent for understatement.” 

“We can’t all be storytellers, now, can we?” he said, lifting a battered briefcase from the floor and resting it on the table between them. “Guess this means we’re square now.”

Gertrude reached for the latch on the briefcase and flipped it open, lifting it to peer inside. The skin was altogether unimpressive, little more than a dusty mess of dark, mangy fur and brittle-looking leather. It smelled like age and power, sharp and sickly sweet enough to drown out the scent of stale beer and unwashed human bodies around her. She stared at it, allowing herself a moment to gloat before she closed the lid and latched it carefully. She rested a hand against the top of the case, able to feel the faint pulse of power through the layers of plastic and faux leather, and gave Adelard a quick, decisive nod. “Yes, I believe this makes us even.”

“Good.” Adelard lifted his scotch and finished it off in one go, then slammed the now-empty glass against the table and stood, offering Gertrude a knowing smile. “And that’s the last time I’ll ever let myself be foolish enough to owe a favor to Gertrude Robinson.”

“I believe we both know better than to say never.” She allowed herself a brief smile. “Thank you for your assistance.”

He tipped his hat to her and turned on one foot, heading for the door.

Gertrude watched him go, the bruises on her legs and backside aching, and allowed herself a moment to imagine the non-existent look on Orsinov’s face when she realized both Gertrude and the skin were gone. 

She clinked her glass of scotch against the side of the briefcase and gave a silent toast to Nikola Orsinov.


End file.
